I Can Resist Everything But Temptation
by freedomfry
Summary: Arwen's pendant. Frodo's ring. Can Boromir resist temptation?


Title: I Can Resist Everything Except Temptation By: freedomfry Genre: LotR (Movieverse), AU Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: All power and glory to Tolkien, New Line, and Peter Jackson, all whom have a stake in this universe. None of them is me. Feedback: Is better than chocolate. Notes: For and the A/B/A ficathon, who requested a story that is AU because of the Ring. The title comes from a quote from Oscar Wilde. Many, many thanks to casapazzo for the beta and talking me through this one, removing lots of mistakes and redundancies and making it a better story because of it. The remaining errors are all mine.  
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Here, at the end, I'm not sure which tempted me more, the Ring or the pendant. Both have haunted me, waking and sleeping, promising things that I have no right to need.  
  
I saw them for the first time in Rivendell, leagues away and forever ago. My father had sent me to there in response to Elrond's call, and a hundred days in the saddle to dwell on Gondor's increasingly hopeless fight against Mordor had not put me in the most diplomatic frame of mind.  
  
My first encounter with Aragorn, although I didn't know him by that name yet, had only added to my irritations. I had been walking through Rivendell, trying to get the kinks of out my back and legs that hours soaking in a hot bath had not relieved, when I came across him reading in a hall. More than a little relieved to see another Man in a realm of Elves, and seeing something in his eyes that I wanted to understand, I tried to start a conversation.  
  
I am a man of action, far better at fighting with weapons than clever words. Suffice to say, my attempt was not exactly a success, and ended with me cutting my finger and dropping a priceless artifact while Aragorn stared at me without changing his expression and barely looking up from his book.  
  
I wouldn't say precisely that I slunk from the room, nor did I stomp, but the exit was not exactly something I was proud of. I turned around, fully intending to apologize and retrieve the hilt that had dropped to the ground. The scene that greeted me took my breath away.  
  
Stories, songs, poetry, paintings: hundreds of people in thousands of ways have tried to describe the beauty of the Elves. None of them come close to expressing just how Arwen Evenstar appeared to my eyes the first time I saw her. She shone with her own light, a glow from within that accented her unearthly beauty. She and Aragorn were deep in conversation, hands clasped, standing too closely for a casual encounter, and I turned to leave before I was seen. As I moved, her eyes caught mine just for a moment, and seared me to my soul. The pendant around her neck sparkled like a living thing as it caught the rays of the moonlight.  
  
I have heard tales of love at first sight, and I had always thought that the idea was for children. But in that moment, if she had asked it of me, I would have thrown away the errand my father had sent me on, forsaken my own people, and done whatever would make her look at me the way she had been looking at Aragorn a moment before.  
  
I had never felt so out of my depth. There had been battles where I had barely escaped with my life, but there had been something tangible to pit my strength against. I was now facing a problem that could not be solved with physical weapons. My will, my sense of honor, was the only thing keeping me from following them and trying to take that necklace, and that Elf, for my own.  
  
I walked away from that encounter more shaken than I had been since I had been tested in battle for the first time as a young man. The pendant burned before my eyes that night as I tossed and turned, reliving every agonizing moment of my encounters with the Man and the Elf.  
  
I awoke with sand in my eyes and a feeling of dread for the long series of council negotiations ahead of me. Hours dragged into days as Elrond first revealed to the assembled Men, Dwarves and Elves that the One Ring had been discovered and then that it must be destroyed. I found it amazing that such a tiny object had managed to inspire such fear into the hearts of the brave warriors who surrounded me. "It is a gift," I said. "A gift to the foes of Mordor."  
  
The assembly couldn't have reacted with more horror if I had announced to them that I was planning to marry Gimli son of Gloin. Gandalf glared down his long nose at me and informed me, like I was a petulant child, that the Ring was altogether evil.  
  
I looked across the assembly toward the tiny, fragile being who had carried the Ring to Rivendell. He came barely to my waist and looked like he had never been in serious combat in his life. His eyes were enormous, his mouth made for smiling, and his feet didn't come close to touching the ground as he gazed around at the council. If this being, small enough that I had originally mistaken him for a child, had come to Rivendell carrying the Ring and had not come to harm, surely a son of Gondor would be able to find a way to harness this weapon's enormous potential.  
  
The brink of destruction that Elrond had spoken of had been fought against by generations of Gondorians while the rest of the races assembled had done nothing. Surely my people, a strong race of warriors, would be able to stand against the Ring, if it was so very powerful. With the Ring, Gondor would be able to regain the honor and glory it had once had, Rangers telling me that I couldn't wield it notwithstanding. And then an Elf, with all the arrogance of his people, stood up and told me that the Ranger I had dismissed so casually was none other than Aragorn son of Arathorn.  
  
I thought back to the night I had first seen him with Arwen, and noticed for the first time that her wore her pendant around his neck. It glowed brighter at that moment than the golden ring on the pedestal. He was to have her and the throne of Gondor as well? "Gondor has no king," I snapped. "Gondor needs no king."  
  
Elrond declared that the only way the Ring could be destroyed was by someone going into Mordor and throwing it back into the fires of Mount Doom. I noticed immediately that he hadn't volunteered to go there himself, and wondered if he and I were the only sane people assembled. Perhaps the other members of the council had never seen the flames burning from the mountain, or had forgotten about the ever-watchful Eye that was certain to notice our presence. I reminded them of the impossible odds that Elrond had neglected to mention. "Not with ten thousand Men could you do this," I warned. "It is folly."  
  
Chaos ensued and soon all was in uproar until we had been shamed into our places by the tiny hobbit choosing to take the Ring to Mordor. Dwarf, Elf, wizard, and Aragorn chose to accompany him, a party of six to face every form of monster Mordor could vomit out, but Gondor certainly could not be left behind. "You carry the fate of us all, little one," I told him. "But if this is the will of the council, Gondor will see it done."  
  
To get to Mordor, we would have to pass close to Gondor. It was a long journey: surely I could convince the members of this traveling band to see things my way once they experienced for themselves the impossible odds we would be facing.  
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We walked for leagues and days, trudging up mountains and slogging across streams. The nights were spent listening to Gandalf tell tales of long ago and far away, enduring the singing of Legolas, and laughing at the antics of Merry and Pippin. It turned into a tradition of sorts that Aragorn and I would keep each other company during our turns at watch. I enjoyed spending those nights in his company, initially because it kept me from dreams of his Elf and her pendant, and then because I came to enjoy his companionship in its own right.  
  
It took more than a week of awkward silences after I had come across Aragorn looking up at the stars and whispering in Elvish before he elaborated even a little about what her name meant in Elvish, and the reminder that Aragorn had of her every evening. I tried to avoid looking too eager as he told me a little more about her. I felt honored to be allowed even a short look into Aragorn's carefully hidden self, and tried to hide my growing confusion about their relationship. Why were Arwen and Aragorn so blessed, so complete that they only needed to have each other? Why hadn't I been able to make Arwen smile at me the way she looked at Aragorn as we left Rivendell? Why couldn't I make Aragorn's face light up like the mere mention of Arwen's name could?  
  
I had always left the murky choices of the soul, the big questions about life, love, and our place in the world to my brother. After a few days, I carefully began to avoid looking at the pendant around his neck, and tried to change the subject to tactics or the next day's journey when Aragorn seemed open to discussing our lives beyond the quest. I think he believed I was missing a sweetheart of my own back in Gondor, and I let him. It was much easier than trying to explain my muddle of emotions.  
  
Fortunately, it also stopped a lot of ribbing from Gimli about how I kept looking at Aragorn's chest to make sure that he wasn't wasting any of our food. I had told the dwarf that I had heard from Legolas that Aragorn was a messy eater when Gimli had caught my drifting eyes one day: it had seemed a better reason to be looking at Aragorn than a fascination with his jewelry.  
  
The laughter of Merry and Pippin and the jokes of Gimli made it easy to forget just how perilous our quest was, and what our final intention was, but a glance at Frodo, a glimpse at the Ring, would bring me back to thoughts of home, to father and brother and the walls of Minas Tirith. We were three days into a climb up Caradhras, slipping in the wet, struggling to keep up with Legolas, when Frodo began tumbling back down the mountain.  
  
As he fell, the Ring fell from around his neck. I picked it up. "It is a strange thing, that we must suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing," I murmured as I held it in my hand.  
  
In my mind I saw the potential the Ring had to help Gondor, to save Middle- earth. It's such a little thing—how dangerous could it be? I saw myself using it to avert war, to destroy Sauron. I saw Elrond coming to greet me, his daughter behind him, to agree that there was strength in Men. I saw pride and love shining in Arwen's eyes at what I had accomplished. I saw respect and joy in Aragorn's face as he embraced me on the walls of Minas Tirith, and relief in his eyes as we looked out together at the destruction of Mordor. It was all so clear: it would be a waste to destroy the one chance I might have to see such a bright future. Aragorn broke into my thoughts.  
  
"Give the Ring back to Frodo," he said.  
  
I opened my eyes to the blinding brightness of the snow, and walked down toward them. "As you wish," I replied lightly. "I care not." I began my climb back up the mountain and pretended not to notice Aragorn's hand on his sword or the cold light his pendant had reflected onto the snow.  
  
I stopped my conversations with him, seeking instead to spend more time with Frodo and the rest of the hobbits, and my new routine was noticed by the rest of the Fellowship. A few days later as we made camp on Caradhras, I came upon Legolas and Aragorn deep in conversation, heads together, Elvish words tumbling quickly from their lips, and heard my name mentioned. Legolas said something short and angry, and Aragorn snapped back in words I could understand, "He did not follow me around like a puppy, Legolas. He's confused, and far from home, and searching for companionship."  
  
Legolas said something else quietly in Elvish. Aragorn laughed. "No, I don't think he finds me appealing quite like that, Legolas. His father has put a large burden on him to protect Gondor—I don't believe he has had time in his life to even think about romance. He changes the subject when I even bring up Arwen, although he looks at my pendant a great deal."  
  
They went back to speaking in Elvish, and I did my best to slip away quietly, but I was certain that the thoughts in my head were loud enough to be heard. Aragorn had noticed everything about my recent behavior but had drawn the wrong conclusions. I was both glad that he had not understood my attentions, and disappointed to be dismissed so casually. The cold of the long nights on Caradhras settled into my soul, and the mountain's collapse onto all of us the next day seemed only a fitting end for the heaviness in my heart.  
  
Thwarted by the power of Saruman, and over my objections, we turned back down and headed for the Mines of Moria. I felt time working against us like a separate evil force. While we wandered around the entirety of Middle-earth searching for a path to Mordor, Sauron was using that time to make an army and setting it against my people. I wanted to go home, taking the Fellowship with me, and fight with sword and strength. Fighting nebulous forces, hiding from unseen eyes, creeping around and hoping not to be noticed had obviously not worked. Best, I thought, to make for the Gap of Rohan and Gondor and fight against Mordor from a place of power. Gandalf and Aragorn felt otherwise.  
  
I tried to understand their thoughts, but they refused to let me into their conversations. Hurt and trying not to show it, I spent more time with the hobbits as we walked toward Moria. Their smiles and laughter were far better companions that Aragorn's serious eyes and Gandalf's probing comments. The Ring around Frodo's neck glowed just as brightly as the pendant had around Aragorn's, and showed me a future that I could mold rather than a path that I could never travel down. It was far better to travel with companions that enjoyed my company rather than a Man who only added to my confusion.  
  
Two days into the absolute darkness of Moria, as Gandalf pondered a doorway for hours unsure of which way to go, I knew that I had been correct to suggest the Gap. I said so to Aragorn as we smoked our pipes and waited for Gandalf to make a decision.  
  
"Are you so anxious to return to Gondor?" he asked me.  
  
I shrugged. "My father is anxious for me to return. And I am happier with a sword in my hand and a clear line of what to do next rather than stumbling in the dark and hoping for the best."  
  
He looked at me with serious eyes. "Our mission is vital as well, Boromir. Protecting Frodo, destroying the Ring. Only then can Middle-earth rest from the might of Sauron."  
  
I stared back. "But what if the Ring isn't destroyed, and we end up taking it straight to Sauron and he uses it to crush everything and everyone that matters to us? I don't think I could bear to see Minas Tirith destroyed, or Rivendell, or any of the beautiful land that we have seen in these last few weeks." I swallowed. "What would happen to my father, my brother, you, all of those I love if Sauron truly regains his power? Would it not be better to try to use it first, and then destroy it if it doesn't work?"  
  
Aragorn put his hand on my shoulder. "It cannot be done, Boromir. You must see this."  
  
I turned away. "Why must I see this? All I see in the future is darkness—as bleak and black as this mine."  
  
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I found no comfort in Lothlorien, my dreams troubled by thoughts of pendants and rings and promises I had to keep. Seeing more Elves living in another beautiful paradise, singing beautiful songs and not actually doing anything while my people were fighting and dying to protect their way of life was too much to bear so soon after losing Gandalf. An encounter with Galadriel, the powerful Elf queen who ruled Lothlorien, left me shaken and uncertain about my place in the Fellowship. A voice in my head during the Fellowship's meeting with her told me of the imminent fall of Gondor, but told me that despite such a fate there was still hope left. I couldn't see any.  
  
Aragorn found me on the bank of a creek as I tried to sort my thoughts out. I spoke to him again of my father, and his failing rule. In order to have hope, I needed to be able to see something good on the horizon, and generations of endless battles has sapped that optimism from my people. The only glimmer of hope I saw was the gold circle Frodo carried, and it had almost fallen into oblivion along with Gandalf just a few days ago.  
  
I closed my eyes as I remembered the fear I had felt watching helplessly as Aragorn and Frodo balanced on that falling piece of rock. Each moment of that horrible event was blazed separately in my mind, harder to forget even than Gandalf's fall. Frodo's eyes had been enormous as he stared across at us across the growing chasm, one hand stretched out for balance, the other around the Ring for comfort. Aragorn had the arm he wasn't using for balance around Frodo, and I watched as the pendant had flashed with the reflected fire of the mines as they tipped and rocked, trying to stay upright. His eyes met mine and I watched him trying to say goodbye to me and calm Frodo at the same time.  
  
My mind focused on the tiny details as I watched my friends fight for their lives. Sam's face was streaked with tears as he shouted at his master. Legolas' eyes were uncertain for the first time in the quest as he watched and could do nothing. My hand was cramping around my sword as I looked for something tangible to fight against. The arrows the Orcs were shooting at us meant absolutely nothing as we watched an event unfold that not one of us could stop.  
  
And in the midst of all of it, the pendant and the Ring shining in the dim light like my salvation. For one brief moment, I wanted those objects to survive more than I wanted my friends to live.  
  
In a miracle none of us had the right to ask for, the boulder had fallen toward us and Aragorn and Frodo rejoined the rest of the Fellowship in our headlong flight from the Balrog. Gandalf had sacrificed himself for us all so that we could continue our quest with the Ring, and Galadriel had had the audacity to see great evil in it, and almost refuse us passage because of it.  
  
I was beginning to think I was the only one able to see clearly about what the Ring could mean for Middle-earth. Aragorn had told us that the Elves were leaving Middle-earth forever; they obviously had no hope for us to survive this quest. Perhaps they were not strong enough to control the Ring, and Aragorn was too afraid of the weight of his ancestors' failures to try. He had not said, but I believed that Arwen was also bound to leave Middle-earth. I began to wonder if this quest wasn't some elaborate form of suicide for Aragorn.  
  
When we discovered that the creature Gollum had been tracking our path since Moria, I tried one last time to convince him against the path he had chosen.  
  
"Minas Tirith is the safer road," I began.  
  
"There is no strength in Gondor that can avail us," he replied.  
  
"You were quick enough to trust the Elves," I shot back, hurt. I thought of the way he had been able to relax in time the we had spent in Lothlorien, the conversations he had had in Elvish with Legolas on our journey where they had smiled and left me on the outside of their jokes. I looked at the pendant around his neck and thought of the moments I had seen between him and Arwen.  
  
"Have you so little faith in your own people?" I asked. "Yes, there is weakness, there is frailty. But there is courage also, and honor to be found in Men. But you will not see that."  
  
I remembered stories he had told about his life before the Fellowship. I recalled his quiet voice explaining to me why he had refused to bring a reforged Narsil with him on this quest. I remembered our first meeting, and my words were full of anger as I said, "All your life you have lived in the shadows, scared of who you are, of what you are."  
  
I knew from the hurt in his eyes that I had hit home. Aragorn turned away from me and snapped, "I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city." His cloak swirled in the night air as he walked away down the beach.  
  
I tried to calm my breathing as I watched him walk away from me. The months we had spent together, the time I had spent trying to win his respect and trust had obviously meant nothing to him. The ways I had tried to show how Men were just as worthy of his love as the Elves he held so dear had not worked. And now his short-sightedness only showed him the way that Elrond had chosen, a path that had already killed Gandalf and would doom us all. Aragorn's weakness would be the reason that Middle-earth would burn. It was entirely Aragorn's fault that Arwen would leave Middle- earth forever—he wasn't strong enough to take the Ring for the gift it was and use it. I was strong enough to do so, and wise enough to see what needed to be done.  
  
I stared again at Aragorn's retreating back, his slumped shoulders, his hand around his precious pendant trying to seek comfort, and I pitied him. I walked over to where Frodo was lying in his blankets pretending that he had not heard the argument. "You carry a heavy burden, Frodo," I said, as I sat down next to him and began stroking his head. "Are you certain that you don't carry it needlessly? You could share the load, let the rest of us carry the Ring as well."  
  
Frodo's eyes grew large, and his hand reached up to touch the Ring protectively. "Your words would seem like wisdom, Boromir, if it weren't for the warning in my heart," he said to me, backing away.  
  
"Why do you run from me, Frodo? I am no thief." I put my hand to my sword. "All I ask for is a way to protect my people."  
  
"You are not yourself," Frodo stammered, backing into the river. I stood up and reached toward his neck. "Give me the Ring, Frodo," I said.  
  
"No!" he cried.  
  
"You must understand," I whispered as I reached toward him. "Aragorn's plan will kill us all. Sauron will take the Ring. He will use it. He will destroy us all, and it will be all your fault."  
  
My voice had reached a shout. I looked down at Frodo and realized that I had been holding him under the water and shaking him. He looked like a doll, big blue eyes open in shock. But he was no longer clutching the Ring. He was no longer moving at all. I removed it from around his neck and put it around my own.  
  
I turn toward the beach and see the tear-stained faces of three hobbits. They are yelling something, but I can't hear them. Can't they understand? This was the way it must be. Aragorn comes running down the beach, and stops Legolas from letting loose the arrow he has aimed at my chest. I rejoice that Aragorn has finally chosen to help me rather than listen to the Elves, and then notice that his hands have moved toward his sword. With the Ring around my neck, I don't even notice his pendant. The promise of that future, of a life with the respect of a powerful warrior and a beautiful Elf princess, are mine to choose now that I hold the Ring. He is the one without vision, and I feel sorry for his blindness.  
  
I don't want to kill him, but it is too late for regrets. I look at Aragorn and see anger, duty, and sorrow in his eyes. I think mine must mirror his a bit. But the Ring must go to Gondor. I draw my sword.  
  
Why can't he understand?  
  
--The End-- 


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